Lady Iansa's room felt like time paused for her convenience. Sunlight warmed the embroidered curtains, the antique brass mirror reflected the gentle sway of her silver hair, and the soft scent of jasmine lingered in the air — her favorite.
Seated against the satin pillows, Lady Iansa lifted the vintage telephone with a deliberate grace. Her voice, though aged, held the same majesty that once ruled boardrooms and family gatherings alike.
"Serena went to the hotel with I today?"
Her tone was light, but beneath it was the unmistakable undercurrent of curiosity — and perhaps a hint of relief.
"Yes, Lady Iansa," Sui replied. "She is in charge of organizing the hotel's upcoming anniversary event. She mentioned she and Sir I agreed on the direction for the preparations."
For a moment, Lady Iansa closed her eyes. The corners of her lips softened, a quiet pride blossoming there.
"…I see," she whispered, almost to herself. Serena — her once timid granddaughter — was now stepping confidently into places she had long avoided. "She must be busy. Please assist her well, Sui."
"Of course. I'll do my utmost."
The line clicked softly, the sound almost ceremonial in the quiet room.
---
Meanwhile, outside the grand marble gates of the family hotel, the atmosphere was entirely different — buzzing with whispers, movement, expectancy.
The car door opened, and Serena stepped out first.
She wore an elegant monochrome ensemble, simple yet impossibly striking. Her hair caught the sunlight like polished bronze. Even though her expression remained composed, I could feel the slight hesitation in her—this place held too many memories for her to walk in casually.
I rounded the car and approached her, offering a quiet reassurance with my presence.
"We came through the front gates today," I murmured, hands casually in my pockets, "since it's been a while for you."
Serena glanced at me, her lashes fluttering like she wanted to say something but chose silence instead. She nodded lightly and walked forward.
The towering entrance doors opened with a soft mechanical hum as the welcoming committee rushed forward.
"WELCOME! It is nice to see you after so long, Lady Serena," greeted Logan — tall, impeccably dressed, and still sporting the same warm-hearted eyes that had watched Serena grow up.
Serena bowed politely, but her voice softened in a way it rarely did.
"Yes, Uncle Logan."
Logan broke into a laugh that echoed through the lobby's high ceiling.
"Haha! You've grown more elegant, but don't go adding titles now. The staff gets heart attacks when you suddenly act formal."
Serena let out the smallest laugh — a breath, really — but it was genuine.
"I mean… Manager Logan?" she teased, eyeing his crisp suit.
He clicked his tongue dramatically.
"You brat. It's still Uncle Logan. Keep calling me that and I'll work twice as hard."
Serena shook her head lightly, her eyes drifting around the lobby — the chandelier she used to hate for being "too sparkly," the cushioned chairs she used to nap on during paperwork visits with her father, the marble floors she once slipped and fell on.
Memories played on her face like a film only she could see.
I watched her quietly.
She wasn't just Lady Serena right now.
She was… coming home.
And for a second — just a fleeting second — she let herself feel it.
Her shoulders loosened. Her brows relaxed. A small breath escaped her lips, as if she was rediscovering a part of herself she thought she'd lost.
Logan noticed, his expression softening.
"No matter how long you stay away," he said gently, "this place always waits for you."
Serena blinked, caught off guard by the affection in those words.
Before she could respond, Logan turned to me with a mischievous grin.
"And you, Sir I… thank you for bringing our lady back."
Serena shot me a quick glance — pink dusting her ears — but I simply replied,
"Always."
Logan clapped his hands.
"Well then! The anniversary preparations are in full swing. Shall I escort you both to the event floor? Everyone is excited — and terrified — to work under Lady Serena again."
Serena sighed dramatically.
"I'm not that scary."
"You are," Logan and I said at the same time.
Serena looked between us, her eyes narrowing with playful offense, and for the first time since stepping foot here… she truly smiled.
A soft, real, beautiful smile.
And just like that—
The heavy past loosened its grip on her shoulders.
The hotel's doors didn't just open for her.
It welcomed her back.
"Shall we go to the meeting room?" Logan asked with a pleasant, practiced smile, though a flicker of pride shone in his eyes. Serena's return was more than a routine visit — everyone in the hotel seemed to sense it.
He guided us down a polished corridor, the soft glow of amber wall lamps casting long, elegant shadows. Serena walked slightly ahead of me, her posture straight, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Even without looking at her face, I could tell her mind was already at work.
When Logan opened the carved double doors to the meeting room, a subtle gravity immediately settled in.
The air was quieter here. Serious. Heavy enough to demand respect.
The room itself was a masterpiece — tall windows draped in soft silk curtains, golden patterns tracing the walls, and at the center, the long mahogany table that had seen decades of decisions shaping the hotel's legacy.
Logan moved toward the center of the table, stopping beside a towering mountain of documents.
"These are the documents Lady Serena needs to review," he explained, tapping the neatly arranged stack. "I selected only the urgent ones."
Only.
Yet the pile was nearly as tall as Serena's seated posture.
Serena approached the table, gloves brushing lightly against the polished wood, and took her seat — not hesitating, not fidgeting. She simply sat, poised, as though this weight belonged to her.
"You can read the reports on the left by department," Logan continued, "and the ones on the right are the quarterly balances — organized by category."
He spoke with enthusiasm, but his eyes kept drifting to Serena, gauging her reaction.
She picked up the top binder with quiet precision and held it in both hands.
Even from across the table, I could see the small movement of her thumb passing over the embossed lettering on the cover — the hotel emblem, the section code, the date. A detail she examined with meticulous care.
Logan chuckled nervously.
"Haha… it's quite a lot, isn't it? But you don't need to approve everything immediately. Please, take your time."
His words were well-meaning, but unnecessary.
Serena wasn't overwhelmed.
She wasn't even intimidated.
She was… invested.
I leaned back in my chair, observing her more closely. Serena's face was usually a composed mask, polite, elegant — but now something different flickered beneath her lashes.
Quiet determination.
And something that looked suspiciously like joy.
Logan noticed it too. His eyebrows rose, a silent realization sparking in his expression.
She's not terrified by the workload… She looks happy.
Serena lowered her gaze to the binder again. A faint line formed between her brows — not in frustration, but in dawning clarity, as if the meaning of this moment were unfolding inside her, slow and profound.
This feels strange… she thought, breath catching slightly.
This hasn't been handed down to me by Grandmother. No one filtered it, summarized it, or instructed me about it.
This is the first report I've received directly. For me. Because it's my responsibility.
I saw the exact moment the realization struck her.
Her fingers tightened around the binder just slightly. Her shoulders lifted in a small, controlled inhale.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
To anyone else, she looked calm. But I knew her well enough to see the shift — a subtle recognition of authority settling into her chest.
So this is what it feels like…
To hold the weight of the hotel's operations in my hands.
My eyes softened despite myself.
It's because it's her first direct report.
Her real first step into authority.
But it wasn't just that.
It was something more intimate — something she might not have realized yet.
This wasn't merely business paperwork.
It was trust.
Logan had brought these reports to her, not to Lady Iansa, not to someone acting in-between.
Serena finally lifted her eyes to me from across the table.
Only for a second.
But in that second, our gazes met — and I saw it clearly.
A quiet fire.
A new confidence uncoiling inside her.
A silent promise that she would rise to whatever this responsibility demanded.
And behind that confidence, faint but unmistakable…
A spark of excitement.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she might speak — but instead, she looked back at the documents, eager, driven.
For the first time, she wasn't following someone else's footsteps.
She was creating her own.
And I — watching her gather her strength, watching her embrace this burden with grace —
felt an unexpected pride bloom in my chest.
Logan blinked in faint surprise as Serena shifted into motion, reorganizing the binders with swift, confident hands. Pages rustled, tabs clicked, and her eyes darted with razor-sharp focus.
"Shall I give you some more time?" he asked, half-joking, half-awed.
Serena didn't even glance up.
"It's fine. Go ahead."
Her tone was crisp, but underneath… excitement quietly pulsed.
Logan stepped back. I remained still, hands folded, watching her.
Serena tapped the arranged stacks of documents with a gleam in her eyes — a spark I had never seen so openly displayed on her face.
So this is what it's like, she thought, an unexpected thrill rising in her chest.
Fascinating.
It feels like seeing a question I studied before on an exam.
Her smile — small, startled, genuine — brightened her expression like sunlight flickering across the polished table.
Without hesitation, she pulled the first binder close.
"Of course," she murmured to herself as she scanned. "This is the budget plan for the terrace suite extension… and the builder's contract."
She turned calmly to Logan.
"It's a draft copy, so tell me if you approve it. After that, we'll proceed through the lawyers."
Her hand reached for the nearby glass of water, and with one fluid motion she slid it toward herself — not missing a beat of concentration.
"Here is the updated security manual," she continued, thumbing through it rapidly. "This one needed revising. And below… our business plan for the Christmas season."
Her voice softened, nostalgia dipping into her words.
"The busiest time of the year," she whispered, almost to herself.
As she flipped a page, a tidal wave of memories washed over her — childhood evenings spent studying reports with Iansa, handwritten notes in a shaky but elegant script, papers scattered across her grandmother's bed while the old woman coached her through business terminology.
"Oh… this is similar to the contract from twelve years ago," she murmured, touching the corner of a paper. "The one for repairing the lobby ceiling."
The memory warmed her fingertips.
"I remember… Grandma gave me the documents to study back then."
And then her eyes widened with recognition as she spotted another phrase.
This term…!
I uses this word all the time when he's on the phone. No wonder it sounded familiar.
A delighted chuckle almost escaped her lips — but a stern voice snapped her back.
Anyway, this isn't the time to make observations! Focus!
She straightened, serious once more.
Across the table, I watched her — an unreadable stillness on my face but a storm of thoughts behind my eyes.
What a way to react to her first report…
She's treating it like a puzzle she's been waiting years to solve.
And yet, watching her now — her intelligence humming beneath her skin, her eagerness so raw and real — something strange pulled at me.
How did she endure everything back then, I wondered, with an ego and personality like hers?
My gaze dropped for a moment as old, cold memories drifted in.
A sick, frail Iansa.
A younger Serena — sharp, angry, wounded.
Rooms drenched in clinical light.
Hallways echoing with tension.
I exhaled silently.
My only job was to save the Serenity family and its hotel, I reminded myself.
I wasn't required to train Serena.
The thought was factual — a statement carved into stone.
They were facing a crisis. Iansa didn't have the time, and I… didn't have the reason.
I remembered the small tasks I occasionally tossed her way — always when she wouldn't stop bothering me. Mere scraps of real work. Little exercises to keep her occupied.
I'm sure it was the same for Iansa…
She probably gave Serena whatever she could, whenever she had a moment to spare.
Yet… here Serena sat now, dissecting reports with practiced ease she technically should not have possessed.
And something inside me twisted — something that felt uncomfortably close to admiration.
She had learned alone.
Studied alone.
Digested unfamiliar terminology alone.
When no one listened to her attempts, when no one heard her explanations or questions…
She had turned to the work.
Silently building herself.
Quietly sharpening her mind.
Diligently preparing — for a responsibility she wasn't even promised.
Serena flipped another page, completely absorbed.
And I felt that quiet, complex emotion stir again.
Something like respect.
Something like guilt.
Something like wonder.
You weren't supposed to be this capable, I thought with a soft, conflicted frown.
And yet… here you are.
Serena snapped herself back to reality with a sharp inhale, grabbing her glass and downing several hurried gulps.
GULP. GULP.
Her throat burned with the lime's acidity, but the sting helped her focus.
Anyway, this isn't the time to make observations! she scolded herself.
Get a hold of yourself. FOCUS.
She straightened her spine, forced her pulse to settle, and nodded at Logan to continue.
The meeting did not slow down.
If anything — it intensified.
---
Logan flipped through his tablet.
"The banquet hall and guest rooms are fully booked until the end of the year," he reported, his tone brisk. "We've kept everything vacant on the day of the anniversary next month."
Serena nodded, swiftly scanning a printed sheet.
"Recently…" she trailed off, eyes narrowing.
"Yes — VIP visits have increased dramatically this quarter. I'd like to propose hiring two additional concierges."
Logan blinked. "Two? Immediately?"
"Yes," Serena replied, her voice clipped with authority she didn't quite realize she was using.
"VIPs require tailored assistance. If we don't scale up, service quality will drop."
Her logic was sound. Her tone was confident.
I watched her quietly, fingers steepled under my chin.
She was learning faster than expected.
---
The conversation shifted sharply as Logan raised a different issue.
"The Michelian Company… They're begging us to finish the renovation of Banquet Hall 3 early. They're willing to pay extra — even provide workers."
Serena leaned forward, concern flickering. She clearly saw their desperation.
Logan's tone made his stance clear: he wanted to say yes.
But I didn't hesitate.
"No."
The room stilled — even Serena turned her head toward him.
My voice was steady, resolute.
"Turn down their request."
Logan's brows furrowed. "But… they're a major client—"
"If we bend now because of money," I cut in, "they'll continue making unreasonable demands. It sets a precedent. Word will spread."
The finality in my tone silenced the room.
I looked directly at Logan.
"A short-term gain is not worth long-term instability."
Serena quietly absorbed this, eyes reflecting both admiration and discomfort.
I handled pressure like it was merely another line item on his agenda.
---
"Next," I said, flipping a page. "The auction for the site on 3rd Avenue in Wellenberg. The one considered for the Selters Hotel."
Logan grimaced.
"…They lost the bid," he admitted reluctantly. "The Grint Company won with a much higher offer."
Serena tensed. That was significant.
Land in that district was practically gold.
Logan continued, voice grim.
"Many companies are purchasing land aggressively. It seems they're aiming to compete directly with us."
I processed this instantly.
"Very well. Keep your eye on the site."
My voice deepened.
"And I'll consult Mr. Relton about auction patterns."
Turning slightly, I addressed Raul, who had been quietly taking notes.
"Raul. Get me on the phone with Mr. Relton at three."
"Yes, Sir," Raul replied with absolute precision, already writing the scheduled call in his notebook.
The meeting pressed on.
Contracts. Staffing. Renovations. Seasonal projections. Price strategy.
One topic bled into another, like relentless waves crashing atop each other.
---
TWO HOURS LATER —
Serena's once-bright eyes now glazed over. She sagged into her chair, utterly defeated.
Logan kept speaking.
Raul kept writing.
I kept analyzing.
But Serena…
Serena was dying inside.
Please stop… she screamed silently, lifting a trembling hand to rub her temple.
The excitement has died down.
They've been talking nonstop—after only a 15-minute break!
Her head fell into her hands.
They're monsters… absolute monsters!
The reports blurred. Her chronically straight posture wilted. She stared at the polished table with the expression of a scholar who just realized the exam had seven additional unseen pages.
This — the grind, the pressure, the competition — was no longer thrilling.
It was suffocating.
And yet… she stayed.
She didn't walk out.
She didn't complain aloud.
She endured.
And from across the table, I noticed.
Her struggle.
Her determination.
Her exhaustion.
A flicker of something softened in my eyes — something I quickly masked.
Serena blinked hard, as if forcing clarity back into her body. Her head felt heavy, her focus drifting every few seconds, but the flow of work never slowed. Her fingers moved across the paperwork with practiced precision, flipping between sections of legal documents and tax records.
"And the tax issue that you wanted me to check?" she asked quietly.
I didn't look up immediately.
"Oh, that's over here…" she murmured, tapping a thick bundle of papers. To anyone else, it would've appeared disorganized, but Serena had already learned that I knew exactly where everything was, even amidst chaos. She gave the documents a quick glance before swiftly returning to the next line in their agenda.
A major collaboration awaited their attention.
"What shall we do about Curson Motors?" Logan asked, setting down another file. "I've reviewed the conditions. Honestly, they've included a lot of clauses that are beneficial to us."
He offered a tight smile, noting the obvious. "They're trying to tap into the wealthy customers at our hotel."
I leaned back slightly in his ornate chair, the gold accents catching glints of afternoon light. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried a measured certainty.
"Yes. It will also benefit us greatly if we were to use a car instead of a carriage to escort our guests."
A rare moment of tension slipped from his features. "It seems our business strategies are aligned."
Then, with a firm PUSH, he sent the documents toward the center of the table.
"However, there are a few things I'd like to confirm," he said, tone deep and decisive. "I'll decide after another meeting with them. I'll invite them to the hotel soon, so be prepared."
He shifted his attention to Raul.
"And make sure you don't overdo it. Keep it brief and light. Last time the meal was too long, and we got dragged into an unnecessarily long discussion."
Raul straightened instantly, pen flying across his notepad.
"Understood, Sir!"
The meeting continued, but Serena's focus had drifted entirely to the man sitting at the head of the table.
---
Serena watched him, silently astonished.
She'd known he was busy. Everyone did. But seeing it unfold right in front of her—his precision, his composure, the way he commanded the entire room without raising his voice—was something she hadn't expected.
He's very busy… she thought, almost whispering the words inside her mind.
Seeing him work like this… it's overwhelming.
He wasn't merely delegating.
He was reading, analyzing, calculating, and predicting three steps ahead—all while maintaining that calm, impassive exterior.
And when he goes home, he still handles the manor… both the hotel and the estate require so much to maintain.
Her earlier exhaustion began to blend with something steadier. Something sharper.
A person like him…
How long would it take to manage things the way he does? How long until I can stand at that level? If I push myself—if I try again—I should be able to reach that height too… shouldn't I?
Her gaze lingered on him—longer than she intended.
He felt unreachable.
But also unshakably human.
And somewhere beneath that rigid, expressionless mask…
Something was hidden.
What is he hiding under that stoic face?
What is he thinking? What does he carry alone?
These questions sank deeper than curiosity. They stirred her ambition, her pride, her stubborn desire to stand beside him not as a burden, but as someone worthy of being his successor—his equal—maybe even…
Someone he could trust.
Her exhaustion melted into quiet determination.
For the first time, she wasn't simply working to survive.
She was working to rise.
---
Serena redirected her attention to the budget plan for the terrace extension. Figures, projected costs, and material estimates filled the page in tight, clean columns. Logan, the General Manager, noticed immediately which document she had gravitated toward.
He opened his mouth—likely ready to explain or justify something—but he never got the chance.
Because I saw it.
He always saw everything.
Her brief pause. Her slight frown.
The moment she hesitated over a number.
He leaned in, just slightly, but enough for her breath to catch. His gaze sliced through the space between them with that unsettling sharpness of his.
"What is it? Is there something you don't understand?"
His voice was calm—but edged. Challenging. Probing.
Serena instinctively stiffened, heart jumping in her chest.
God, he scared me.
She quickly flipped a few pages forward as if that would erase the way he pinned her with those eyes.
"No, it's not that," she replied quickly.
Then, remembering exactly who she was dealing with—and who she wanted to become—Serena steadied herself. She lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on.
"Yes. I noticed there was a sudden increase in the budget," she said, tone crisp, professional. Her confidence slid back into place like a blade returning to its sheath. "The manufacturing cost is the same, but the material cost seems to have doubled all of a sudden."
A silence stretched.
He stared at her.
Not hostile. Not pleased.
Simply unreadable—intensely so.
Then he extended his hand.
"Let me see that."
Serena handed him the binder, her fingers brushing his—brief, accidental, and sparking an irritation she didn't have the energy to unpack.
He scanned the numbers with quick, razor-sharp precision.
Then a quiet huff escaped him.
A rare, almost amused sound.
"…Haha."
He glanced back at Serena, studying her with a look she couldn't decipher.
"Would you look at that…"
She didn't know what surprised him more—the error, or the fact that she caught it.
---
Iansa had relied heavily on him during the crisis that swallowed the Serenity family and its hotel. Out of necessity and urgency, I had taken the helm—and in doing so, had pushed Serena away from the heart of the operation.
I always had Raul pass on these reports to Serena, he mused silently.
She wasn't meant to be overwhelmed. She wasn't meant to be burdened.
His role had been simple:
Protect the Serenity name. Protect the hotel. Nothing more.
My only job was to save the Serenity family and its hotel. I'm not required to train Serena.
Iansa had felt the same—practical to the last breath.
There had been no time, no luxury, for proper mentorship.
I only left her with something small to work on whenever she bothered me.
Projects meant to keep her occupied, keep her out of danger, keep her from asking questions she wasn't ready to hear the answers to.
I'm sure it was the same with Iansa…
When there was no one to hear what Serena had to say…
But somehow, through the scraps of work he had tossed her way…
She had learned.
She had grown.
She had sharpened herself.
And now she's actually catching things like this?
The thought both impressed and unsettled him.
Serena, meanwhile, was no closer to understanding the man sitting across from her.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him read the report.
Either way, I don't like that I have to go along with his plan…
but I guess I'll just have to find my own way through this.
She dropped her gaze back to her papers.
I should focus on reading this instead.
But the confusion never eased.
He said he would kill me when he had the chance…
Her fingers tightened on the page.
But he also seems serious about training me.
Why is he always so confusing?
The meeting might have concluded on paper, but the unspoken tension—
the power struggle,
the reluctant mentorship,
the flickering edge of danger between them—
had only just begun.
I continued reading the budget report for the terrace extension, his eyes moving with unwavering focus. On the outside, he appeared composed—almost indifferent—but inside, the gears of his mind were no longer turning at their usual predictable rhythm.
She saw that right away.
He didn't show it, but her sharp observation had unsettled him. Serena had caught an anomaly in seconds—something even seasoned managers often missed unless they combed through the numbers twice.
For someone who had been kept out of the hotel's core operations for years, it was… abnormal.
And impossible to ignore.
A memory surfaced—one he had discarded the moment he heard it.
A long time ago, Iansa told me Serena had an eye for numbers, he recalled, his expression unreadable. I thought it was just a grandmother's affection talking.
He had ignored that remark.
Just as he had ignored many things about Serena.
He looked down at the report again, but now he saw more than doubled material costs—
he saw the pieces of work she had been quietly devouring for years.
I told her to just read the numbers that I gave her to look over…
His voice in memory sounded annoyingly dismissive.
The fact that she did exactly what she was told, without complaining or asking for help, is not a coincidence.
She had read them.
She had studied them.
Every report.
Every figure.
Every line he tossed at her to "keep her busy."
His face betrayed none of this, but his thoughts were tight and deliberate.
I expected her to lose interest. Instead…
She grew.
Serena waited, hands… not quite steady. His silence was too long, too focused. She tried not to shift in her seat, but her nerves pressed against her spine.
She didn't dare ask what he was thinking.
---
I finally looked away from the report and glanced at the two remaining binders on the table—the security manual and the Christmas business plan.
They were the final discussions for the meeting. Logan and the other department heads clearly expected him to wrap things up and relay his directives.
But something in him shifted.
A quiet decision formed.
Without a word, he closed both binders, stacked them neatly, and rose to his feet.
Serena's head snapped up.
Logan stiffened.
I didn't acknowledge either of them.
He simply turned and walked out of the meeting room—his departure as abrupt and decisive as a blade being sheathed.
"W–wait—" Serena's voice barely left her throat.
"H-huh?" she blinked, completely thrown off.
Logan watched the door as if it had personally betrayed him. "What… what did he just do?"
No one answered.
The two-hour meeting, once intense and overflowing with information, now felt hollow—echoing with a single shared confusion.
---
I walked briskly down the quiet hallway leading to the hotel lobby, his polished steps hitting the floor with precise rhythm.
He didn't want these reports left with Logan.
Or Raul.
Or anyone else.
He wanted them delivered directly to her.
Not because he trusted her.
But because he needed to see what she would do with the weight he was giving her.
He found Sui, one of Iansa's most loyal maids, waiting near the elevator with impeccable posture.
Without explanation, he handed her the two binders.
"Give these to Lady Serena as soon as she gets back to the manor."
Sui looked down at the thick stack, blinking at the unexpected instruction. "Yes, Sir."
He nodded once, sharp and final.
If she is going to inherit this, she needs to understand the full scope of the business.
Not just the finances.
Not just the paperwork.
Everything.
And she will read it, he thought with certainty.
Serena was no longer the reckless granddaughter he'd once dismissed.
He stepped outside into the crisp late-afternoon air, pulling out his mobile phone. His mind smoothly shifted back to the external threats—Grint Company, the failed bid, the upcoming 3 o'clock call with Mr. Relton.
The world outside the Serenity Hotel was ruthless, competitive, unforgiving.
But inside?
Serena was becoming a different kind of threat entirely—
one he hadn't planned for.
One he couldn't ignore.
One he might eventually need to face.
I stepped into a quiet alcove near the hotel's grand entrance. The marble floor gleamed beneath the golden lights, but his mind was far from the hotel's serene aesthetics. Time was ticking toward his arranged call with Mr. Relton.
Raul had already prepared the line.
When the call connected, I's posture straightened almost imperceptibly—his voice sharpening with that smooth, authoritative edge only a few could withstand.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Relton," I began. "I'm calling about the auction trends on Wellenberg."
Mr. Relton, a man whose insight could shift the weight of a million-crown decision, didn't waste time.
"Ah, yes, the 3rd Avenue site," he said. "The Grint Company secured it with a fairly aggressive bid. Many companies have recently entered the luxury hospitality sector. Everyone sees the potential for enormous returns."
I's expression darkened—not surprised, but displeased.
"I see."
He shifted his weight slightly, back touching the cool stone of the alcove wall.
"Do you believe the Grayan family will move toward another lot soon?" he asked, voice steady but calculating.
A low chuckle came from the other end. "It's almost guaranteed, Sir. They're determined to realize the Selters Hotel project. Losing one auction won't deter them."
He paused only to flip through a set of documents on his side.
"If I may advise… you should keep a close eye on the remaining sites around that area, particularly the 5th Avenue block. Whoever takes that will have the competitive edge."
I's jaw set.
"I understand. Thank you for the insight, Mr. Relton."
He ended the call immediately—no wasted breath, no indulgence in small talk.
---
The room fell into a grave silence after my final words, each man now acutely aware of the subtle battlefield we were standing on—one made not of swords and armies, but of numbers, pride, and desperation.
The older gentleman's mustache twitched as he exhaled slowly.
"You mean… they're provoking us? Trying to gauge how far we'll bend?"
I tilted my glass, letting the wine swirl like liquid dusk.
"Not provoking," I corrected gently. "Observing. Measuring."
My eyes flicked toward the window—toward the distant mountains where the abandoned mine lay hidden beneath snow and neglect.
"They know we need the stone. They're waiting to see how desperately."
The man in spectacles pushed them up his nose, his brow creasing.
"If they're sizing us up…" he murmured, "Lady Serena, perhaps we should reconsider. Their intentions may not be benign."
A soft laugh escaped me—not mocking, but amused, almost pitying.
"Oh, their intentions are never benign."
I placed the wine glass down with a delicate clink that felt louder than thunder.
"But weakness makes people clumsy. And the Dorothea family…" I paused, savoring the tension coiling through the room,
"…has been clumsy for a while now."
The brown-suited gentleman stiffened.
"You believe they're in trouble."
"I know they are."
I leaned forward, elbows resting on the armrest, my expression sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Their mine is nearly tapped out. Their debts are rising. Their last shipments were inconsistent. And—"
I let my voice drop lower, a whisper made of velvet and threat—
"they can't afford to keep refusing buyers much longer."
A thick, weighted silence followed.
The older man's voice trembled slightly with excitement.
"Then… if we press at the right moment—"
"We won't press."
I stood suddenly, my gown rustling like storm-touched silk.
"We let them think they're in control."
Then I turned, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"Right until the moment they realize they've already lost."
The gentleman in the brown suit rose as well.
"What is your plan, Lady Serena? How will you negotiate?"
I walked toward the door, the soft glow of chandeliers casting warm gold along my silhouette.
"Oh," I said lightly, looking over my shoulder,
"I'll let them size me up…"
A heartbeat.
"…and then I'll show them what a mistake that was."
And with that, the room's air shifted—not with fear, but with the electrifying promise of a predator preparing to hunt.
---


chapter 14 end
Story Art Ina
Tip's
SERENA HAS NATURALLY WAVY HAIR, BUT SHE LIKES TO STRAIGHTEN IT OUT.